Reforged
by dysprositos
Summary: Loki never wanted to be a king. But after he was twisted and shaped into something new, he can't go back to what he was before. He doesn't deserve to.
1. To be a king

Warnings: this is a little graphic.

As I'm sure you're all aware by now, my beta irite is pretty much the best.

This is my first attempt at serious Loki. Also, I'm still pretty unclear exactly wtf is going on with the Chitauri/the Other/Thanos, so please be gentle.

This was meant to be a one-shot, then I thought it might have another chapter or two, then I decided that it was _definitely _a one-shot, and then I wrote a second chapter. So we'll see how this plays out.

I do not own The Avengers. Or Loki. I just wish I did.

* * *

Loki never wanted to be a king.

The whole thing with Thor's coronation and his subsequent exile had not been a bid for the throne. That had mostly been for Loki's amusement. He had intended to appeal to Odin for Thor's return after a couple of days, perhaps. He thought Thor could use the opportunity to learn some patience, some humility. After all, _Thor _was to be king, and a king who actively courted war was not the king that Asgard needed. For Loki did care about Asgard. He had to, certainly, as a member of the royal family, but his care went deeper than just that superficial concern. They were a good people, and they deserved a good king.

Loki knew he could not be that king. He knew he had no business ruling _anyone_. Ruling was, above all else, boring. Sure, the power would have been nice, but it came with so many conditions, so many strings attached, so many rules and responsibilities that he could do without. He'd rather spend his time reading, making mischief , and practicing his magic than dealing with the mundane concerns of a kingdom. The throne was a burden, a heavy one, one that Loki never intended to carry.

Yet life had taken a different direction. After their ill-fated march on Jötunheim, he had found out about his true parentage, and Loki's plans had changed. With Odin incapacitated, it was in _his _power to recall his brother. And he intended to, really, he had. But first, he had to prove to his 'father' that he was not a monster, that he could rule Asgard as capably as if he had been born Aesir and not Jötunn.

It did not occur to him that Odin had never suggested otherwise. Indeed, it was only Loki's own vicious self-doubt whispering those things in his ear.

But it drowned out all else.

Through attacking Jötunheim, attacking his own 'people,' he hoped to tear to shreds any lingering connection between him and those creatures. _They_ were the monsters, and he _would _destroy them to protect Asgard.

But neither Thor nor Odin had seen things that way. And Loki, dangling over an abyss, had seen the disappointment in Odin's eyes, and he had understood then that if he had thought that _this _was the best way to win Odin's approval, he was sadly mistaken.

He _was _a monster, after all.

And he had no right to lay claim to _any _throne.

So he had let go of the staff, had let himself fall into oblivion, intending that to be his end.

It hadn't been, though he had come to wish it had.

He had awakened lying on hard, barren rock in some hard, barren place. It was a cold wasteland, lifeless and empty. He was completely alone.

Or so it had seemed.

The inhabitants of that place had not made themselves known immediately. For some long, immeasurable amount of time, Loki wandered the harsh landscape, bruised and aching, cold, hungry. There was little light to guide him, and the stars were foreign. After what felt like an eon or two, he had to concede that he did not know where he was. Or where he was going. Or where he had come from.

He laid down to rest in a semi-sheltered crevice and fell into a fitful sleep.

Some time later, he was awakened by a sharp kick to his ribs. He startled awake, more surprised than pained by the blow.

The creatures looking down at him were horrifying, like rotting reptilian-mechanical monsters.

And they were not especially friendly.

Nor were they big on talking. This was a problem, because Loki _was_. "Silvertongue," he was called, and for good reason. He could talk his way out of anything.

Usually. But not this.

He couldn't tell if they didn't understand him or if they just weren't listening. Or if they just didn't care about what he was saying.

Whichever it was, they led him in silence. They brought him before what he assumed was their leader, and yet Loki did not sense from him a particularly strong aura of power. It was as if someone else entirely was running the show, calling the shots, directing the actions of all of these creatures from afar.

Still, this particular creature, this 'Other,' seemed to be in charge, and he explained in great detail exactly what he wanted from Loki.

When he had finished, Loki laughed at him. "How foolish are you? Your plan will never work. And I do not want to be a king, especially of that wretched realm. My brother, for some reason, holds it quite dear. I will not rouse his ire so. Find another way to obtain this 'Tesseract;' I will not aid you."

The speed and ferocity with which the Chitauri (as he later learned they were called) set upon him at the Other's command was impressive. Loki fought back as well he could, but he was both already weakened and vastly outnumbered. He was soon overwhelmed and found himself bound and dangling from the ceiling of the cell that would become his home.

Loki did not want to be a king, but the Other did not particularly care what he wanted. He needed someone to send against Earth, someone who could bring that planet to its knees and keep it subjugated and shackled. He needed a leader, a king, and it _would _be Loki. The demigod had the kind of power they desired. It had been a truly fortuitous stroke of luck that had brought Loki exactly where he was needed.

So whether it was what he wanted or not, Loki _would _be a king.

And really, how hard could it be to 'convince' him?

At first, Loki set his will in stone. He was stubborn and would _not _bend, and he would not break.

That did not last.

The Chitauri would beat him until he was on the brink of unconsciousness, until the mere act of drawing breath brought nearly unbearable agony, until he was gagging on his own blood as it as it ran down his throat. Then they would release the bindings at his wrists that held him upright and let him collapse to the floor. There he would lie for some amount of time, trying to catalog his injuries and cursing both his terrible luck and his rapid healing. The first because it had brought him here, of all places, and the second because it meant that this torture could, in theory, stretch into infinity.

In between the torture sessions, the Chitauri's leader would come and see him. He would help Loki off the floor, help him onto the pile of debris that was serving as a bed. He would _tsk_ over Loki's injuries, would belittle him for being so _stubborn_ and so _stupid_. In the beginning, this incensed Loki, who swore vengeance upon these foul creatures. He knew he was too weak, too battered, to bring the justice that these monstrosities deserved, but he insisted that his _brother_ and his _father _would see to it that every injury, every indignity done to Loki would be repaid tenfold.

Loki hated himself for those words, hated himself for needing those whom he had disappointed so gravely. He hated himself for being too weak to save _himself_.

But despite Loki's vehement insistence, neither Thor nor Odin _did _come to save him, and the Other seized upon that fact and exploited it without mercy.

And it was an effective strategy, because that was a major weakness in Loki's defenses.

_Are they even searching for me_? Loki wondered near the beginning of his ordeal, lying in a pool of blood and vomit. The blood was from the dozen or so fresh stab wounds littering his torso, the vomit from when the pain had become too much to bear and his body had rebelled against all his efforts at control.

When the Other came to visit a short time later, he carefully maneuvered around the mess on the floor and dragged Loki to his 'bed.' In a low, soothing tone, he assured the demigod, "Your brother does not even care enough to come for you. Why will you not stand against him?"

Loki's response was to spit a mouthful of blood into the monster's face.

But the insidious words began to burrow into Loki's very being, and as they worked their way in, they began to mold him into someone new, someone filled with anger and resentment, vengeance and hate.

_Probably_, Loki thought, several 'days' later, attempting to both pop his shoulder back into its socket and muffle the high-pitched whining, keening sound he was making while doing it, _They are pleased that I am gone._

"They feel it is for the best that the Jötunn monster has left Asgard," the Other divulged when he next came to visit. "For that is all you are. A monster could not rule Asgard, but a monster is all that Earth deserves. Will you not lead our army and bring us the Tesseract?"

Loki wondered, not for the first time, how this creature knew so _much _about him, that he could stab so efficiently at his softest, most vulnerable spots.

But Loki still resisted, still refused to be the king that they wanted. It grew harder, with the passing of time, as his body grew weaker and pain became his constant companion.

After a while Loki began to wonder _why _he was resisting at all.

_For all of Asgard has undoubtedly been celebrating in my absence, _Loki decided as his captivity grew in length. _They have hated me all along, after all._

"And they have mistreated you most grievously," the Other breathed into Loki's ear, his words disgustingly warm and wet on Loki's neck. "Do not forget that. Do not forget that they _all _saw the rightful king of Asgard dethroned and exiled!"

Loki could not deny the truth of it.

Once, though, before the end, Loki nearly broke free from the manipulation. It had taken him an unusually long time to figure out what was happening, but he forgave himself for his stupidity somewhat, because concentrating on anything but breathing through the pain had been, of late, generally impossible.

Still, his was furious when it finally clicked. "You truly think me so simple that I shall bend to your will so easily?" Loki had sneered at the Other, when the pieces had come together. "You will need to do better than this, I am afraid. I will not be toyed with. You cannot _trick _me into leading your army! Do you not know who I _am_?"

The repercussions for that outburst had been unpleasant enough that the Other had not needed to step up his manipulation game, though. Instead of being more persuasive, the Other opted to see if he could make Loki more open to his overtures. It was in this way that Loki found himself impaled in eight places by bayonets, trying not to look at the white of his ribs visible through the blood and flayed flesh of his chest, with four broken limbs and a shattered spine.

It was an effective tactic; Loki's sense of self-preservation had always been very well developed, and his survival instinct finally kicked in and overrode his abhorrence of doing these creatures' bidding. He decided that perhaps taking a stand against being toyed with was not in his best interests. Because, of course, until he regained feeling in his legs, he would not be taking a stand against _anything_.

It did not take the Other long, after that point. With his body spectacularly broken, and his will to fight against the indoctrination exhausted, building Loki into a weapon was laughably easy. The demigod was so pliable that convincing him that he had been mistreated, that he was hated, that everyone he had ever known wished him dead, and that it was Thor's beloved Earth that deserved his vengeance was a simple matter.

After all, Thor and Odin had not searched for Loki, and why would they have? They had dethroned him, and seen him thrown into an abyss. Clearly, they reviled him, and so why should he _not_ seek his revenge on them? The Other and his Chitauri would give Loki the means, it would be so _simple _to take what he deserved.

All that the Other wanted was a king, someone strong and powerful enough to bring them the Tesseract. He only wanted to elevate Loki to the rank to which he was entitled, to the rank that had been stolen from him by the cruel manipulations of Thor and his 'father.' Would it not be wise to accept this generous offer?

The wounds on his chest barely closed, his bones barely knitted whole, legs shaking with the exhausting effort of remaining upright, Loki bowed his head in acquiescence.

When he was brought before the _true _leader of these creatures, the one who commanded even the Other, Loki took the offered staff with an unsteady hand. Through blood and pain he had been reforged; now, he said, he was ready to rule.

The blood caked into his hair and clothes betrayed the lie, but Loki had _always _been a liar.

Now he would be a king.

* * *

Please review, if you're so inclined. They bring meaning to my life as I toil through an endless barrage of otherwise meaningless tasks.


	2. Weary

Warnings: none.

Thanks to my beta, irite, for putting up with my endless barrage of verbiage.

This was basically born out of my need to practice writing Loki and Thor.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

"Truly?" Loki sneered, voice rough from disuse. "You 'never expected this' of me? Your faith in my virtue is touching, Thor, but entirely misplaced."

Thor sighed. Perhaps that had not been the wisest thing to say. "Do not speak so. You are not..." 'Evil,' he was going to say, but Loki's recent actions certainly had not been particularly benevolent. Nor had they been anything Thor would have thought his brother capable of. Thor was having trouble—deep, heart-wrenching difficulty—reconciling Loki's behavior with the brother he had known. Clearly, either Loki had changed drastically in the time they had been apart, or Thor had been completely mistaken in his understanding of Loki's character for centuries.

After what he'd seen, Thor didn't know which was true.

Loki smirked at Thor's hesitation. "Even you cannot exculpate me? Then truly I must be beyond redemption. This is a tragedy, indeed, don't you agree?"

Thor rubbed at his forehead roughly. Honestly, this whole conversation wasn't going at all like he had intended it to, which he really should have expected—he was talking to Loki, after all, and no one could twist words like Loki. But Thor had hoped he could talk some sense into his brother, could make him see reason before he went on trial in the morning. Because without remorse, without any indication that he regretted his actions...Loki was not likely to meet a sympathetic outcome. And even though what Loki had done was awful, Thor could not bear the idea of seeing his brother imprisoned...or worse.

For almost four days, Loki had been imprisoned, and for most of the first three of those, he did not speak at all. At first because he was incapable—the muzzle saw to that—but even after it had been removed, he remained in reticent silence. He did not answer Odin's questions, did not even acknowledge that the Allfather was speaking, opting instead to glare and sulk. Loki appeared to listen to what they told him, at least, although his visage remained so blank as they spoke words such as 'exile' and 'execution' that Thor wondered if Loki actually understood them all, or if his encounter with the Hulk had perhaps rendered him incapable of comprehension.

Late on the third day, though, Loki had set this worry to rest when he interrupted Odin as he read off a litany of Loki's sins with a snarled, "Enough! You have made your point, old man. Do not carry on so, it grows wearisome to hear you speak."

It was certainly not the most audacious thing Loki had ever said, but it struck Odin into silence—from surprise or something else, Thor did not know—and the Allfather had departed shortly after with a weary shake of his head and a muttered, "So be it."

And so, despite all of their efforts, Loki currently showed no inclination towards seeing reason, no inclination towards remorse, no inclination towards regret. It was now the night before he was to go on trial, and Thor had come to give it one last try. But Loki had only listened to him in stormy silence until he could apparently take it no longer, at which point he had burst out with his ridicule of Thor's words.

But Thor would not give up, could not give up on his brother. "I do not understand you. Have you lost all reason? What you did on Midgard was inexcusable, not to mention your actions here! And yet you act as if you have done nothing wrong at all!"

"If it is inexcusable, then why have you come in search of excuses?" Loki asked, his eyes glittering with mockery. "I assure you, you will not find what you seek here." He lowered himself gracefully onto the stool that sat in one corner of his cell and looked up at Thor, the picture of cool, collected indifference. "You should return upstairs. I'm sure your father is waiting eagerly to hear what information you have gathered in his absence."

"Our father," Thor corrected automatically, unthinking.

"No. Your father," Loki growled. "I _killed _my 'father,' or did you forget that?"

Of course Thor hadn't, but that wasn't really what this was about. This was about Loki, about what he had become in the scant time since Thor had last seen him. Thor could not find the words to give voice to that, to the utter, sinking despair and bewilderment that was threatening to pull him under, so instead he said again, "I do not understand you, brother."

At the word 'brother,' Loki visibly tensed, but he did not utter any of the disparaging comments Thor was expecting. In fact, he did not reply at all, and Thor found that more troubling, for Loki had never, in their many centuries together, been at a loss for words. "Loki?" Instinctively, Thor reached out a hand and placed it on Loki's shoulder, wanting to keep him involved, keep him talking, keep him focused on Thor instead of sliding back into brooding silence.

To Thor's surprise, Loki jerked violently away from his touch, almost toppling from his seat in the process. He gathered himself quickly, though, and forced the tension from his shoulders. With a small, humorless laugh, he muttered, "There is much you do not understand." But he didn't offer anything more.

Concerned now, Thor reached for Loki again, but stopped when he saw the nearly panicked way his brother's eyes followed the movement. This, like so much of his brother's recent behavior, was entirely uncharacteristic. Loki was many things, but nervous had _never _been one of them, and Thor didn't know what to make of it. "Loki, what has happened to you?"

Loki did not answer. Instead he rose to stand in front of Thor. "Leave. Surely you are wanted elsewhere. You are not wanted _here_, at any rate."

His posture was hostile and his gaze hard, but here in this cell—imprisoned and stripped of his magic—he was not intimidating, was nothing like the wrathful god who had sought to dominate an entire race. No, he just looked tired, and angry, and petulant, and...afraid. A puzzling combination, especially since Loki had shown almost no emotion for four days. "What troubles you, Loki? Is it the trial?"

Thor did not truly think it was the trial—Loki had been entirely indifferent to the idea since Thor had told him what was going to happen. Indeed, it was like the prospect of facing the consequences of his actions did not matter to Loki at all, like he could not bring himself to believe he would ever actually have to answer to the people of Asgard, of Midgard, for what he'd done.

Given Loki's previous behavior, Thor expected his brother to ignore his question, or to twist it into something ugly. Loki had shown rather unequivocally that he had nothing to say to him or to anyone, for that matter. So when Loki mumbled something under his breath, it took Thor a moment to register that he'd spoken. It took another moment for him to say, "I'm sorry; I did not catch that."

Only marginally louder this time, Loki repeated, "'There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find me.'" He did not look at Thor, speaking instead to the floor, and Thor had the distinct impression that Loki had not wanted to speak, had not _intended _to speak, but had been, for some reason, unable to hold the words back.

"Who is searching for you? And for what purpose?" Though, Thor did not know if he should believe Loki's words or dismiss them as lies. Loki was crafty, and manipulative, and not certainly not above attempting escape. And any threat to his safety seemed unlikely, for what harm could possibly befall him, locked as deep as he was in the dungeon? This area was completely impenetrable.

Loki sighed, weary, and when he answered his aggression was gone, completely snuffed out. "No one. It does not matter. Forget that I spoke."

As if Thor possibly could. Loki's abrupt shift in demeanor had thrown Thor, had piqued his curiosity. "No. Tell me who hunts you, brother." After all, if this was a lie, then Thor would hear the whole thing.

"For what purpose? What would you do, if I was truly threatened?"

"Protect you, of course."

Loki grinned, but it was not from happiness, no, it was all mockery and anger. "You cannot. And why would you want to? Perhaps what is to happen will be my just reward. I am sure your Midgardian friends will rejoice when I get my comeuppance. And I cannot believe that the people of Asgard would be particularly distraught, either."

Thor knew that when Loki spoke of his 'just reward,' he wasn't talking about being brought to justice at his upcoming trial. But _what _he spoke of, Thor did not know. "What do you believe is going to happen?"

Loki raised an elegant eyebrow. "Nothing I do not deserve, surely."

"Loki—"

"Do not trouble yourself any further for me," Loki advised, and underneath the scorn, and disdain, Thor thought he could hear something else—regret, or fear, or maybe a grim resignation. "Your efforts towards my salvation are admirable, truly. But I wish to be alone."

Which was something Thor was not willing to do—Loki's strange behavior had unsettled him, and his insinuations about a possible threat to his safety were not something that Thor was going to take lightly. But despite several more minutes of prodding, Loki would divulge nothing else, instead answering Thor's increasingly demanding inquiries with what Thor recognized as Loki's particular brand of vague, circular half-truths.

Entirely frustrated and unsatisfied, Thor turned to leave. What else could he do but assume Loki was spinning tales? With nothing solid to work with (and Loki apparently unwilling—or unable—to explain), Thor's hands were tied, and so he told Loki, "I will see you in the morning, brother. I do not know what games you play, but if you expect to meet with any mercy at all tomorrow, you will need to be more forthcoming."

"Mercy," Loki repeated, and one corner of his mouth twisted up in a smirk. Before Thor could comment on it, though, Loki's face settled into a frown and he finished, "I will consider your counsel...brother." His voice had a hollow ring to it that left Thor even more unsettled than he had been before. Thor tried to think of something to say, something that might finally break down the walls that Loki had constructed around himself, but he had nothing. And so Thor slipped from the cell, slamming the heavy metal door. He did not turn as a nearby guard locked the door behind him, opting to keep his gaze focused ahead of him.

Thus he did not see the intense way that Loki watched his retreat through the window in the door, blue eyes following his form until he turned the corner and was gone.

The next morning, when Thor returned to Loki's cell, his brother was not there.

The guards claimed to have seen and heard nothing to indicate an intruder or an escape, which Odin—through his own magic—determined to be the truth. _Whatever _had happened, it had gone completely undetected.

Loki was just gone, with no evidence that he had ever been there at all.

Except for a lone smear of blood along the length of one wall.

* * *

So, that's chapter two of a one-shot. A _finished_ one-shot. That's now apparently going to be multi-chapter. And isn't finished. Sigh.

Reviews are the light of my life. Without them, I am empty and alone, drifting in an endless sea of misery.


	3. Reforged

**Warnings: torture.**

My beta, irite, gets ALL the gold stars. Which is a new way to say she's awesome.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

For Loki, staying in the palace dungeons was...dull. Not that dull was bad, necessarily (Loki knew that soon enough he would long for 'dull' with every fiber of his being), it was just all tedious waiting without even a book or something equally innocuous to keep him entertained. An oversight (_Or do they simply not care?_) which left him bored, and which left him altogether too much time alone with his thoughts.

And, alone with his thoughts, he came to realize that they _didn't make sense_. His thoughts raced, yes, and they spiraled towards panic—because he knew what was coming, and he knew it could be any _second_—but even under all of that, his thoughts didn't make sense.

What he really didn't understand was _why _hadn't he immediately told Thor and Odin what had happened to him? Why hadn't he told them what was to come? He hadn't said a word about any of it, had just allowed himself to be dragged to the lowest depths of the dungeons. Even while wearing that disgusting muzzle, he should have still been physically able to communicate with them.

Of course he _knew_ why he hadn't said anything—his mind had been whispering that they wouldn't care, that they wouldn't act, that they would just leave him to his fate. After all, it was what he deserved. He _knew_ that was why he had held his tongue. But the 'why' somehow didn't seem _rational, _and it didn't seem _right_. Because a large part of him had _wanted _to speak, but he had found himself for some reason unable to do so, unable to recount how he had spent the time since they had parted. Indeed, when he had tried to find the words, he had drawn instead a complete and total blank.

And this lapse, this inability to find the words he needed, was the first clue. Because Loki was never at a loss for words. They called him 'Silvertongue,' after all.

That one clue was all it took, because Loki was bright. One clue, and it clicked.

They couldn't just force Loki to bend to their will like Loki had bent Barton to his. That would have been obvious. Too obvious. And they couldn't risk someone figuring it out, not with the fate of at least two worlds at stake. So they'd done something subtle.

They had made Loki _want _to hurt, and maim, and conquer. They had forced Loki to make those actions his own. They filled him with hate, and vitriol, and bitterness, until it wrecked him, until it had forged him into someone whom no one would doubt capable of attempting world domination of his own volition.

They made Loki a villain, without a doubt. They made him _want _to destroy, to bend a whole world to his whims. But making him want it wasn't enough, Loki knew. Because he could have had a change of heart, could have been swayed back onto the 'good' side. And then he could have betrayed those who were _truly _behind the invasion.

That couldn't be allowed to happen, Loki realized. There would have been some kind of safeguard to make sure he couldn't give them up. And if they had given him the staff, had given him the power to bend the will of another...then surely they were capable of bending _his _will.

They must have done so.

_And that's why you can't speak. You _cannot _betray them_.

But what was the extent of their influence? If he had truly been enchanted, then how many of his actions were really, truly his own? How much of what he felt was not genuine, had been implanted in him by his captors?

Loki wasn't one to jump to conclusions, though, and this was a big conclusion to jump to. After all, he hadn't _felt _like he'd been under someone else's influence during his little sojourn to Midgard. He'd seen his own reflection, knew that his eyes, unlike Barton's and the others, had not changed color. And after what had happened to him, maybe he really had been...changed,

(_Driven insane_)

and that could certainly influence his actions. Make him unwilling to disclose anything to those indifferent Æsir who called themselves his 'family.' Even the act of thinking about them caused rage to twist in his stomach. Why couldn't his reticence exist by the product of his own free will?

So it was early on the third day that Loki resolved to tell Thor and Odin everything. Perhaps it would be fruitless, and they very likely wouldn't care, but if he found himself tongue tied, then he would _know _that there was something else at play in his mind.

Some_one _else.

Hours later, when Thor came down (alone, for once, which Loki found odd), Loki's resolve had not faded. He stood to greet Thor, to tell him, 'You must believe what I say.'

But he could not speak. Physically could not make a sound, or a gesture, could not find the words he needed to say, and so he listened to Thor's lecturing and pleading in what he knew Thor assumed was his usual sullen silence.

When Loki was finally able to break his silence, the words he spoke were not his own, were not in any way what he wanted to say. His vocal cords were acting with no influence from his brain.

And so he knew.

They came that night, and Loki was not surprised.

Honestly, what was surprising was that it took so long. Loki had never expected to make it back to Asgard, and he'd certainly never expected to set foot in the palace again. Even being in the dungeon was comforting, felt like home, and he'd let himself believe that he might actually be safe. A war criminal, and a monster, but safe nonetheless.

But no, they had only been waiting until he had figured out their trickery, had solved the puzzle, had seen the extent of what they'd done. They waited until he understood, and then they came.

Loki barely felt the first blow, barely felt his head slam against the cold stone wall of his cell. He slumped down—slid down, really—vision already fading, and he just let himself go limp.

What point was there in fighting? There would be no escape from this.

* * *

It seemed like a bad joke, somehow, that this could happen _again_, and when Loki regained consciousness, he was laughing at the hilarity of his situation.

He stopped abruptly when he felt the hard rock digging into his back, the throbbing in his head. Slowly, he forced himself up so he was sitting.

He was in a cell that was rather less comfortable than the one he'd just vacated, and he was alone.

Well, he doubted that second part. It was highly unlikely that he was truly alone. Not here. "I thought you all dead," he spoke towards the door.

"It is not so easy to get rid of us," came the Other's voice from...somewhere. Loki couldn't tell where he was. "We are many, and strong."

"Where is your master?" Loki asked. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to speak, and he wanted to get what information he could.

"He has left me to make you feel welcome. I will not fail him."

"I am disappointed," Loki sneered, knowing he would regret this but completely unable to stop himself. "I was promised that he would attend to me personally. Where am I?"

The Other did not appreciate Loki's attitude. "Silence. 'Where' does not matter, as I am sure you will soon understand."

The cell door creaked open, and a group of those disgusting mechanical-reptilian horrors slipped in.

They approached Loki cautiously, but he did not fight. He told himself he was too weary—it had been only days since Banner had thrown him around like a child's toy; he was still recovering from that—but truly, he didn't see the point in drawing this out. Because, Loki reflected, the Other was right. 'Where' did not matter at all. Because he was alone and without aid. And that was unlikely to change—Odin had not cared to search for him the first time. Now, as a war criminal and a monster, Loki knew Odin would be even less inclined to seek him out, would probably be grateful that he no longer had to deal with Loki's errant actions.

Resigned, he submitted entirely to what he knew was going to happen.

They started at his fingers, and the pain of snapping bones was almost familiar, as was the nausea that ripped through him at every sharp _crack_. He made it all the way through both hands before he vomited, and all the way through the dislocation of his shoulders before he passed out.

When he awoke, they had him strung up against the wall, and dangling from his arms was like fire, the agony of it almost sending him back into blackness. But his body wouldn't cooperate, and he stayed regrettably conscious.

Not for long, though. They started at his feet, and Loki only made it through one leg before his vision cut back to black.

"You are not even trying," the Other said the next time Loki awoke. "Surely you can do better than this."

But Loki didn't rise to the bait. He knew there was no point in speaking—the Other wanted nothing from him but his suffering. There was no other goal. Loki had failed, and now he had to pay a price. It was simple.

There _was_ something that Loki wished to know, though, if only for his own satisfaction. And Loki's drive to _know_, to _understand, _was apparently indefatigable. "When..." Trying to catch his breath, he started again. "When did you enchant me?"

The Other gave what Loki assumed was a laugh. "Ah, yes. We knew you had finally realized what had been done to you."

"That's not an answer," Loki pointed out, twisting carefully in his bindings, trying to find a position that would relieve the awful pain in his arms.

The Other stepped fully into Loki's cell, walking over to the bound demigod and running one long, disgusting finger down his face. "It was before. Before you had even awoken from your fall."

Loki flinched from his touch as hope flared in his chest. "Then...none of it was real. None of it was me." It was a relief—the anger, the hatred, the resentment, none of it had been him. It had all been implanted, forced on him.

This brief dream was shattered by the Other's next words. "Oh, no. _All _of it was you. We did not require a spell to set you on your path. We only needed one to make sure you stayed on it, that you could not betray us. Your anger burned brightly. It was easy to twist it into what we needed. Easy to make you believe what we needed you to believe."

Loki felt his stomach twist. What they had done to him...he wouldn't have called it 'easy.' But hearing it spoken of as such, he couldn't help but feel his own weakness, that he'd been so easily manipulated. He truly was a monster, then. Megalomaniacal, deranged. Bent on revenge. Unable to see reason. Evil. He had, through his own will (_although_, part of him tried to rationalize, _you were tortured into submittance_), chosen to conquer a world. He'd only been forced into silence, not forced to act.

_Monster_.

Eyes shut, Loki asked, "Will I ever be free of it? Of the enchantment? Will I be bound forever to hold my tongue?"

"No," Loki's tormentor responded quickly, easily, sounding amused. "You will be dead long before 'forever.'

When Loki did not speak again, the Other said, "Shall I send them back in?"

"Yes, please do," Loki answered, politely, his eyes still closed. To see what he'd become (and he knew he'd had 'help,' but they'd only exploited the weakness already present in his character) was too much to handle, too much to face.

He heard the door open and close, then open and close again.

While he waited for it to start in the awful, heavy silence, part of him (a part that he'd thought long dead) wished desperately for Thor, or even Odin, to come. To fix this mess, set him free, save him from this torture, to just let him come _home._

But Loki knew that all of that was impossible.

And anyway, this was what he deserved.

* * *

Thanks for reading/following/favoriting/reviewing.

Reviews are the only meaning in my cold, empty life. So please review.


	4. Freedom

**Warnings: descriptions of the aftermath of torture, quasi-suicidal ideation, less-than-happy ending.**

My beta, irite, has been the best throughout this entire painful process.

I do not own The Avengers. Or Loki.

* * *

Loki's world narrowed down to a single focal point, and that was pain.

He lost track of time, indeed, found it impossible to measure in the dark solitude of his cell. Initially, he marked the passage of time through tracking when they brought him food, but that decreased in frequency as his stay lengthened. Then he used bouts of unconsciousness to divide the time into 'days,' but a day delineated in this way could measure merely minutes or hours (usually of agony), for all he knew.

It made no difference, really, because time ceased to have any meaning at all, and it was not long before he gave up on that endeavor entirely.

His captors had no reason to keep him informed of how long he had been with them. What was the use? They knew that Loki was going to end his days with them—something that they knew Loki knew—so they saw no point in marking the passage of time until the demigod's inevitable death. And after they stopped feeding him, it was clear that Loki's seemingly infinite lifespan had been given an expiration date, so he stopped even wondering to himself how long he had been in their power.

It did not matter.

Loki's whole existence became in that place nothing except the shrieking of his nerves, the snapping of his bones, the warm, wet gush of blood from his shredded veins. He lost all other meaning, all other focus. He just waited for it to end, patiently, not even hoping that it would end _soon_. He had lost the capacity for hope, even to hope for his own quick demise.

And it was not as if he deserved an easy death, anyway.

He was resigned to this. Committed to it, even, determined to see it through to completion. For he had become a monster, and this was his just reward. Unimaginable pain and then, finally, death.

Resigned, committed, and determined as he was, he was not prepared for it when the door of his cell was flung open to reveal Thor, battle-worn, dead Chitauri guards at his feet.

Honestly, he was not even certain that what he was seeing was real and not the product of starvation and endless agony. Not his brain playing out some cruel fantasy. For _why _would Thor be here, breaking down the door of his prison? There was no rationalization for it, no reason Loki could see.

And the look on Thor's face? That mix of horror, nausea, and fear? What possible explanation could there be for that?

Propped up against the stone wall (he'd been left in that position earlier, and had not managed to move yet), Loki blinked several times, trying to clear the drips of blood and sweat from his eyes before he reached one shaking, mangled hand up to rub them. He succeeded only in smearing the blood across his face and sending bolts of agony shooting from his knuckles to his elbow, and so he let his arm fall back, trailing his fingertips through the puddle of blood and filth that had become his cell's new decor. His other arm lay useless at his side, out of its socket, and his legs were splayed in front of him, bent unnaturally at the knees. He'd _meant _to set them right, but he'd just been so _tired _after they'd finished with him that he'd lapsed into unconsciousness instead, had only just been awakened by the door slamming open.

Thor watched his movements, but did not say a word, and Loki had decided that this was, in fact, a dream or an illusion or a hallucination when Thor finally spoke.

He said only, "Loki." His voice caught in between the syllables, and that one word sounded so broken and helpless and entirely unlike Thor that Loki knew, without a doubt, that this was not real.

Still, if he was finally losing his grip on sanity (and it was a long time coming, in his opinion) this was not such a bad hallucination. He could almost pretend like they were truly brothers, that none of the evil between them had come to pass, that Loki had not let himself be led down a path that irreparably ripped them apart. He could pretend that he had family who cared, that someone had come to rescue him from this fate, even though it was no more than he deserved.

Yes, he would let himself pretend, he would give himself this, at least. Perhaps he did not deserve the comfort, but he _would _give himself this. Loki took a deep, shuddering breath, wincing at the stabbing pain of his broken ribs. "Brother. I had hoped you would...come." The last word came out weakly, more coughed than spoken, and Loki could feel a trickle of blood running down his chin as his words re-opened a cut on his lip.

Dream-Thor stepped into the cell and fell to his knees heavily in front of Loki, looking unusually gobsmacked. "Loki. My brother. What have they done to you?"

"Not more than I deserved. I am so _sorry_—" He broke off, coughing, before picking up, "for what I've done, brother." This seemed important, somehow. Something he needed to say. Because he _was_ sorry. Sorry for being weak, for allowing himself to be manipulated, for failing at being what he should have been. And he needed to let someone know, even if it _was _only a hallucination.

Thor shook his head, and he had tears running down his face as he asked, "Why didn't you tell us what they had done to you?"

"I was enchanted." He was momentarily surprised that he had been able to utter these words, but then he remembered that this was a hallucination. The Other's silencing spell couldn't touch him here, inside his head. "I couldn't tell you."

"But you can now," Thor pointed out. "That vile creature is dead, that must have broken his sorcery. You may speak freely, brother. But we must leave now. You need a healer."

Dream-Thor shifted to the side and leaned forward, placing one arm under Loki's shattered legs and another under his abused arms. He lifted Loki and held him close to his chest. The pain that the jarring movement caused was very real, though, not at all what Loki expected from a hallucination. Fire ripped through his body and every injury old and new protested, and he heard himself screaming before, mercifully, everything went black.

When he next opened his eyes, he was in no pain.

Well, that wasn't quite true. But it had faded to a point that he considered 'no pain,' the constant, endless shrieking from his nerve ends quieted to a dull throb that he found negligible.

He thought, perhaps, that he had died.

That idea was dismissed abruptly, though, because this was not Hel. There was something soft under him, something warm covering him, and the room was lit by a warm glow more reminiscent of the palace than of the afterlife for the unworthy. No, he was not dead. He was alive. He was alive, and apparently free...which meant his hallucination in that cell had not been a hallucination after all.

But he was too hollow and empty to care about the trite things he had said to Thor, and he was too tired and weak to do anything about it anyway. So he just let out a small sigh. The sigh morphed into a small groan as he sat up (well, made a good effort at doing so, anyway) and pulled at his old injuries, but the pain was a shadow of a shadow of what it had been.

Blinking, he looked around him. He was correct—he was in the palace, in his old bedroom, no less. And Thor was sprawled in a chair next to his bed, sleeping, mouth wide open...and drooling. Prodigiously.

Loki snorted a small laugh, and it roused Thor from his repose.

"Brother, you have awakened," Thor mumbled, opening his eyes and taking in Loki's appearance. "How do you feel?"

And suddenly Loki felt that familiar cold, hard anger in his chest. The anger that had been driving him since Thor's exile. The anger that had led to all of _this. _Eyes narrowed, he spat, "Do you really care?" It was almost a relief, to feel like _himself_ again. To have the _disgust_, at Thor, at all of Asgard, flare back to life.

Thor was thrown by Loki's sudden change in demeanor. "Of course I do! What was done to you was...horrific, Loki. Your injuries nearly proved fatal."

"Yes, well. It's a pity, but I always _have _been a disappointment."

Thor looked sickened. "Do not say such things."

"Why not? Can the son of Odin not bear to hear the truth? Death is what I _deserve, _I'm sure you will find no shortage of people who agree—"

"No," Thor interrupted. "You do not deserve death. And you did not deserve what those creatures did to you. Brother, you told me you were _sorry_. You are their victim, just as much as the people of Midgard—"

And now Loki interrupted Thor, the memory of his dazed apology sour on his tongue. _Damn_. "I? A victim? Oh, you _are _deluded. What I did, I did of my own free will."

"You were enchanted—"

"Only so that I could not speak. They did not control my mind, Thor. Can you not just accept that I would do this—"

"—and you were _tortured_ into submission, Loki, so no, I _cannot _accept that."

They glared at each other. After several tense seconds, Loki growled, "And what does the Allfather say about all of this?"

Thor looked away. "He has pardoned you for your actions on Midgard. Fully and unconditionally. Now that we know what befell you after your fall from the Bifrost, no one believes you to be at fault for what happened...later."

Loki's stomach dropped, both from the idea of everyone knowing about his humiliation—about his weakness—and from dismay at Odin's actions. "No. He cannot do that. I am a _monster_—"

"But you still must answer for your crimes here."

Loki let out a breath. It sounded uncannily close to a sigh of relief. "It seems the Allfather still has his wits about him after all."

Thor slammed a fist into the arm of his chair. "No! It is unjust, Loki! You are not a monster, and for him to treat you as such—"

But Loki was actually smiling. "Oh, I assure you, I _am _a monster. You have said yourself a number of times that you longed to march on Jötunheimr and slaughter all who crossed your path. How am I so different, really? And I would have seen them all dead, as well, so that makes me _both _a monster and a traitor to my own race. Not to mention that there are those who would argue that I took the throne of Asgard through unjust means, that I attempted to end the life of the Allfather. No, a crime has been committed, a most grievous, treasonous crime, and it must be answered for. And we all know what price one must pay for treason." His voice lilted up at the end, just slightly.

And that, combined with the set to his jaw and the low gleam in his eye, told Thor that he could argue with his brother from dawn until dusk, but his words would have no effect, could not possibly begin to chip away at the solid stone wall of self-loathing in which Loki had encased himself. He could never make Loki see reason, could not pull him out of his belief that he deserved to be punished, that he deserved to pay with his life.

Thor sighed. No, he couldn't make Loki see reason, but perhaps Odin would be more willing to look at things differently. Perhaps there was a way. If he could just make Odin see what _Loki _saw, if he could show his father how truly shattered Loki had been...perhaps he could yet save the life of the one who, even after everything, he still called 'brother.' And if he could do that...maybe someday, they could truly be brothers again.

Loki did not even look at Thor when he stood up from his chair and strode purposefully from the room.

* * *

For several weeks, Loki recovered from his ordeal, passing his time in solitude, quietly ignoring the guards posted outside his bedroom door.

When he went on trial, the people turned out in hordes. There were those who supported the fallen prince, yes, but the overwhelming majority thought he deserved to pay for what he'd done.

But the people of Asgard were not cruel, were not incapable of pity, at the end of the trial, when the sentence imposed was only imprisonment and not death...the only objection came from Loki himself.

His protestations were ignored—vehement as they were—and as he was escorted from the room and down to the dungeon, the hushed conversation and whispers that followed him were far more sympathetic than had been those that had followed him in.

At first, Loki railed against what he perceived to be a grave error in Odin's judgment. He would not eat, would not sleep, would do little except lay on his back on the hard cot in his cell and stare at the stone ceiling above him. He was guarded carefully, watched constantly, even, and none of the guards were sure if the regimen was designed to protect Loki from another abduction or from the harm he might very well do to himself.

After several days had passed in this fashion, Thor came down to visit him.

He stood in the open doorway of Loki's cell, looking down at the pale, thin figure stretched out on the bed. "Loki."

Silence.

"Brother. I must know. Do you truly wish to die?" His voice was tight, and spoke volumes about how hard the question was to ask. But Loki's words and actions made it necessary. Thor needed to know if his brother could be trusted with his own life.

For the first time in days, Loki averted his eyes from the ceiling. He fixed them on Thor. "No." He did not _wish _to die, he just could not understand why he was still alive when death was what he so clearly deserved, could not reconcile it in his mind, not even after days of uninterrupted thought.

"Do you wish to be freed?"

That was far easier. "No."

Thor sighed. "Father has declared your sentence commuted. Your...treatment at the hands of those creatures, he has decided upon reflection, was a more than adequate punishment for your crimes."

The way he uttered this left no doubt in Loki's mind that Odin had not come to this decision lightly, had not come to it on his own, that Thor had more than likely been a crucial element in the process. Thor, who was looking at him now with pity in his eyes, with regret and sorrow etched into every line of his face. Thor, who was looking at him as he would look at a brother.

"You can have your life back, brother," Thor added softly, when Loki made no immediate reply.

Loki tried to imagine that, tried to be grateful, tried to feel the brotherly love that he knew he had once held, but there was, underneath his apathy and self-loathing, a raging undercurrent of anger, of resentment, that still ran through him, and he could not so easily set that aside. Not even for Thor.

So he did not look at Thor as he stood and answered, "Very well. We shall see." When Thor neither replied nor moved to leave, Loki prompted him, "You can go."

And Thor did. Shoulders slumped, his hopes of an easy, loving reunion seemingly crushed, he made his way back down the hall, leaving the door of Loki's cell open behind him.

Loki ignored the open door, though, instead sitting back down on his cot.

Because there was a world out there, but it was not a world that he could face. It was not a world that he could fit in, no matter what Thor seemed to think. Maybe he had, once. But he had since been re-shaped. Re-made. Reforged.

And he couldn't go back to what he had once been.

The open door was meaningless.

* * *

As always, thanks for reading.

This story was a pain to write from start to finish, although this last chapter was marginally easier.

Reviews are appreciated and inspire me to write instead of, I don't know, playing video games and watching all three Lord of the Rings movies in one day...


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